Milestone at 57"

Childhood is full of milestones. Each one marks the passing of time, the growing of our kids into something bigger, wiser, older.  I’ve listened to many of my friends’ wistful comments when their youngest passes a milestone, and they regret that it is their “last” time - the last day of preschool, the last second grade clap off, the last time to wear that cute little outfit.

I’ve never been particularly emotional about milestones. For me the first is also the last, always, so I prefer to simply live in the moment, experience it, and enjoy it for what it is at that time. I’ve watched my kids grow, relishing every stage, and acknowledging I only had xxx years left with them before they flew to their own nests.

So I was kind of surprised when a milestone snuck up on me and shocked my maternal emotions into overdrive.

Today we visited the pediatrician for our annual well-child checkup. Since I knew that my father-in-law would ask for a height and weight update, which he has ever since they were born, I ran back and forth between their two rooms, asking the nurses to repeat their stats while I dutifully recorded them. For the first time in a long time, they came in at identical heights. 

57”

“That might be the height for riding in the front seat of the car,” I said.

We looked it up.  4’9” is the recommended height.  57”.

Giddily, after the appointment, my son ran to the car, beating out his sister for the first ride in the front seat.  I slid into my own seat, backed out of the parking spot, and turned onto the road leading us home, laughing at my son as he read the car manual, which he found in the glove compartment.  I didn’t think anything of the change in location.

We arrived home, and he started to describe to his sister how different it was riding in the front.  He could see so much more.  It was cool.  It was strange.  It was… different.

About a half hour later he and I were back in the car, driving to his evening activity.  He pulled out his Marvel comic book as I pulled out of the driveway.  I glanced at him, taking in this perfect image of my son, reading, and recognized the jarring setting in which he was doing it - the front seat of the car.

As I drove toward town, my heart lurched.  My breath caught.  My eyes began to fill.  And I finally recognized the feeling that my friends had known for years.  My babies were growing up.

57”.  Who knew that this would be the milestone to get me?

For their part, in the last three hours, both my kids walked to the car, content to hop in the backseat, until they realized there was another option.  On my daughter’s first ride, she was giddy, asking a thousand questions about the front seat.  How did the airbag work?  Where was it located?  How do short people drive?  To her it was weird.  It was cool.  And she immediately called her father to ask him to pick her up from her evening activity in his sports car.  She wanted to be the first to ride in the front seat.  She’s my girl, after all.

When I picked up my son from his Tae Kwon Do class, he walked mechanically to open the back door.  Then he paused, turned to me, and smiled.  He walked to the other side of the car, opening the front door, and climbed in beside me.

“I don’t care where you sit,” I said.  “I’m happy to be your chauffeur.  I’ve been doing it for almost 12 years.”

“It’s weird,” he replied.  “I kind of want to sit in the front seat, but I kind of want to sit in the back.”

I knew exactly what he meant.

We have passed a lot of milestones this year.  Middle school. First dance. Deodorant. As they’ve entered the pre-pubescent world, I’ve watched with wonder but never mother’s nostalgia.  Today, for the first time, I was hit by the milestone, wishing my kids were still riding in the backseat, even as I enjoyed watching them beside me, despite the tear in my eye.